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  "Oh, thank goodness. That's a relief."

  "I wouldn't get too excited about it if I were you," Rhys drawled, giving her a pitying look. "A lot of times in situations like this, amateurs are more dangerous than professionals."

  "Wh-what do you mean?"

  "Just that they tend to be mote nervous, more unpredictable. And in case you haven't noticed, between them Scratch and Harley have the brains Of a flea. I doubt that Virgil is much brighter, but I suspect he's got a predator's cunning and a mean streak to match."

  "Oh, wonderful. Just what I needed to hear."

  Rhys shook his head. "Damn. It's bad enough that I walked into this trap at all, but to be kidnapped by three dim-witted, tobacco-chawin', snuff-dippin' rednecks is humiliating."

  "Huh. Kidnapped is kidnapped, no matter who does it."

  * * *

  Meghan was still pacing an hour later when Scratch brought her purse and briefcase and the garment bag in which Rhys carried his stage apparel and makeup to and from theaters. Both had obviously been searched.

  "My, my. How nice of you to allow us to have our things," she drawled, but Scratch was apparently too dense to catch her sarcasm. He gave her his vacant stare, scratched his belly and shrugged.

  "We didn't want to leave nothing in the limo that could identify you. Anyways, you ain't packin' no weapons in there, so we figured you might as well have this stuff.''

  "I demand to know where you're taking us," Meghan said. "We've been on this stinking boat for hours already."

  "Jist keep yore shirt on. You'll find out soon enough." He slammed the cabin door shut before she could say more.

  It had barely closed when it opened again and Virgil stepped inside. His little weasel eyes slid from one to the other. The sly grin that spread across his face held malicious glee and exposed yellowed and broken teeth. "Well, now, are you two comfy?"

  "Where are you taking us?" Meghan demanded.

  Virgil's grin disappeared. "Never you mind. You jist do as yore told an' keep yore mouth shut."

  "I'll do no such th-"

  "Meghan," Rhys warned in a soft but steely voice. "I'll handle this." He did not budge from his lounging position on the bed, but his gaze never left Virgil. He stared at the wiry little man for several seconds before commanding softly, "Say what you've come to say and let's get on with it."

  Virgil scowled. He clearly did not like Rhys's tone. Meghan realized in a flash of insight that Virgil was an insignificant little man, full of anger and swaggering braggadocio. He had expected to find them cowering and sniveling, and had wanted to glory in his power over them.

  His beady little eyes squinted tighter and his whole body vibrated with resentment. "I told you before, rich boy, I do the talkin'.'' He took a quick step forward and backhanded Rhys across the face, and Meghan screamed.

  The blow snapped his head around, and the oversize ring on Virgil's right hand cut Rhys's lip at the corner. Rhys touched the gash and stared at the blood on his fingers. "Why you—" He came halfway off the bed, and Meghan screamed again, but he halted when he found himself facing the business end of a .38 revolver.

  "Back off, rich boy, or I'll blow you away."

  Rhys lowered himself back onto the bunk and Virgil tossed a pad and pencil at him. The items hit him in the chest and toppled to the mattress. "I want a name and the address and phone number of someone to contact."

  Taking his time about it, Rhys picked up the pad and pencil, wrote out Quincy's name and the hotel where they were staying and handed it back to Virgil. "Mr. Westfield is my manager. He'll be able to get the money you want. However, I'd like to make a tape recording of instructions for him regarding the ransoms. You can play it for him over the telephone."

  "Yeah, well, people in hell want ice water, too," Virgil sneered. "Anyways, I ain't got no tape recorder." He walked to the door, then paused to point a finger at Rhys.

  "This info had better be legit. Any funny stuff outta you and yore a dead man. Now, I'd advise you to settle down and get some shut-eye, cause we got a ways to go yet." With that, he left.

  Meghan rushed to Rhys. "Oh, Rhys, your poor lip. Are you all right?"

  Waving her off, he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed at the blood running down his chin. "Don't worry, I'm okay. The little weasel doesn't pack much of a wallop."

  "What a vile little man," Meghan said with a shudder. She hugged her arms close against her body and resumed her restless pacing.

  "Yeah, he is that. But he's right about one thing. You're just wearing yourself out. Since it looks like we're in for a long ride, why don't you stretch out and catch a little sleep?"

  "Beside you? You've got to be kidding." She glanced at the soiled ticking and shuddered again. "Besides, I wouldn't touch that filthy bed on a bet."

  "For Pete's sake, Meghan, seduction isn't a top priority for me right now. I'm hardly the tireless stud that idiot Harley has me pegged to be, you know. I simply think it's important for us to both be alert and rested and prepared for any eventuality when we do. get to wherever it is they're taking us.

  "As for your other complaint, I can fix that." He got up and rummaged through his garment bag. After a moment he, pulled out a white terry-cloth robe and spread it over the dirty mattress. "There. That should protect you from cooties. Now come on and lie down. You must be dead on your feet. I know I am."

  Meghan eyed the bed askance. She was exhausted. She'd been up since five the previous morning and it was after three. Rhys's suggestion did make sense. But she was certain that sharing a bed with him was not a wise thing to do, no matter the circumstances.

  In the end, however, weariness won out over revulsion and distrust. "All right. I'll lie down for a while. But I won't sleep," she insisted as she gingerly stretched out on top of the robe beside Rhys.

  She lay stiff as a board for several minutes, acutely conscious of his nearness, his warmth all along her back. Finally Rhys growled in her ear, "Relax, Slugger. I'm not going to jump your bones."

  A moment later, just as the tension began to drain out of her, he added under his breath, "Not yet, anyway."

  Meghan shot him a narrow look over her shoulder, but he had already closed his eyes and appeared to be drifting off to sleep, his expression the picture of innocence.

  Had she heard him right? She couldn't be absolutely certain.

  Nevertheless, after that she lay rigid as a board, her heart beating a rapid tattoo. She felt prickly over every inch of her body, as though tiny currents of electricity were skipping along just beneath the surface of her skin. Meghan sighed. Sleep, she was certain, was out of the question.

  * * *

  She awoke with a start when the cabin door banged open.

  "Okay, you two. On yore feet," Scratch commanded. "Yore goin' ashore."

  Meghan blinked, unsure for a moment where she was or what this slovenly creature was talking about, or even who he was.

  "Going ashore where?"

  The deep rumble of Rhys's voice in her ear made her jump.

  Instantly memories of the previous night returned.

  A second later, to her horror, she realized that she was lying in Rhys's arms, their bodies nestled together spoon fashion. She was warm and muzzy from sleep, but she became aware of several things at once: his moist breath against her neck, his delicious heat, every inch of his firm body pressing against her backside from her shoulders to her feet. His scent, dark and faintly musky and totally male, seemed to surround her. Most of all, she was conscious of his arm draped over her waist and the hand cupping her breast.

  "Never you mind, where," Scratch growled. " Jist git on up and git outta here. This ain't no honeymoon cruise, ya know. An' bring yore stuff with ya. Virgil don't want nothing left on this boat that'll tie us in with you two.''

  Jerking out of Rhys's embrace, Meghan sat up and shot to her feet, her face flaming. Rhys followed more slowly. She could feel him watching her, but she pretended not to notice and studiously kept her gaze av
erted.

  She was an absolute mess. Her dress was hopelessly wrinkled and she had runs in both stockings. What little makeup remained on her face felt like dried cement, and long, curling tendrils had escaped her chignon and were waving around her face like a witch's straggly mop. She longed for a bath and an opportunity to redo her hair and makeup, but the chance of Scratch allowing that was poor to nil.

  With a sigh, she plucked the loose pins from her hair and raked her fingers through her wild mane in an attempt to tame it. She brushed and straightened her dress as best she could and stuffed her feet back into her bone pumps. While Rhys gathered up his robe and put it back into the garment bag she picked up her purse and briefcase.

  "C'mon, c'mon. Shake a leg. I ain't got time to wait around all day," Scratch groused, prodding them out of the cabin and up the ladder with his gun.

  Meghan climbed the steps on shaky legs. Her heart clubbed against her ribs so fast and hard she was afraid she was going to pass out.

  Bravado and anger had gotten her this far, but she did not know how much longer she could hold on. The last thing she wanted was to lose control in front of Rhys. Or to give these three bumbling goofballs the satisfaction of knowing how frightened she was.

  All night she had tried not to think ahead to this moment, but ever since they had climbed from the limo a multitude of hideous scenarios of what was in store for them had tormented her. Buried alive in a box. Chained in some dark, airless room with no food or water. Put in a cage and left to die. Rape and torture and all manner of pain and degradation.

  She inhaled a shaky breath, braced for the worst and forced herself to take the last step up onto the deck. Halting, Meghan blinked. When her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, she stared.

  They were anchored off a beautiful tropical island.

  In the center, a tree-covered mountain rose in a gentle slope and palms swayed next to the pristine white sands that circled the perimeter like lace edging on a woman's nightgown. A hundred yards or so from shore waves broke against a coral reef, but beyond mat point the indigo waters tumbled lazily into a peaceful bay and then onto the beach.

  Meghan glanced up at Rhys, who had come to a halt beside her. He shrugged. "It could be worse."

  "Harley, you sure that anchor's set?" Virgil demanded, descending the ladder from the pilothouse.

  "Yeah, yeah. I took care of it."

  Harley lumbered from the stern of the boat. When Meghan glanced his way she nearly gagged. He had stripped to the waist, and his white beer belly hung over his belt and jiggled and quivered with each step like lumpy oatmeal. The snuff can he carried in his back pocket had worn a white ring in the denim cloth. He bent over to pick up a cooler and his jeans, which rode obscenely low, exposed a lot more of his backside than Meghan cared to see.

  Hefting the cooler onto his shoulder, Harley straightened and threw a leg over the side, and Meghan quickly averted her eyes, fearful that his pants would end up around his ankles. Now that was definitely a sight she could do without.

  Scratch followed Harley down the ladder into the dinghy. 'Virgil looked at Rhys and Meghan and jerked his head toward the side. "You two next."

  Scratch and Harley were standing in the small craft grinning like fools in eager anticipation of Meghan's descent in her tight skirt and high heels. One look at their expressions and Rhys scowled and announced, "I'll go first and you follow close behind me."

  Meghan did not demur. She was not thrilled with the prospect of exposing her legs and perhaps more to Rhys's view, but better him than the pair of salivating idiots in the dinghy.

  Harley and Scratch looked disappointed that Rhys had spoiled their fun, but once he and Meghan were on board the small craft the sullen pair began to row for the shore.

  Meghan had expected Virgil to join them. When he remained behind she was grateful. His two partners were bumbling nitwits and their personal appearance and habits were gross, but they did not frighten her half as much as 'Virgil. She was very much afraid that Rhys was right about the mean streak in the man.

  Harley and Scratch were as inept at rowing as they were everything else and it took a while to make it to shore, but the keel of the dinghy finally scraped the sandy bottom.

  Their captors jumped out in knee-deep water and ordered Meghan and Rhys to do the same.

  Rhys went first, but when he turned and held out his arms for her, she rejected the gesture. "I can manage, thank you," she said in a cool voice. No matter how dire their circumstances, she would not allow herself to become dependent on Rhys, she vowed.

  Slipping off her Italian pumps, she stuffed them into the pockets of her skirt, hiked it up, clambered out and waded past Harley with her chin high, ignoring his lecherous grin.

  "C'mon, Red, hurry it up," he snickered.

  Meghan's nerves were already ragged, and when he gave her bottom a pat she whirled on him like a spitting cat.

  "All right, that's it! I've had it!" She gave Harley a mighty shove in the chest mat caught him off guard and sent him stumbling backward, arms flailing.

  He landed hard on his backside with a force that shot up a giant splash which covered Meghan. She gasped and sputtered, but paused just long enough to swipe the salt water out of her eyes. Ignoring her dripping hair and drenched dress, she advanced with blood in her eye and stood over Harley brandishing a spike-heeled pump.

  "Look, you cretin, I don't know what glacier you stepped out of, but I'm warning you, if you or your slack-jawed friends so much as lay a finger on me again, I swear I'll rip out your gizzard and feed it to you. You got that?"

  Harley sat gaping up at her, his mouth working like a banked fish. Water dripped from his hair, his ears, the end of his bulbous nose. A piece of seaweed plastered his cheek.

  "By dang! Didn't I tell you that woman was trouble?" Scratch scowled and brought out his gun, but before he could do more than grumble Rhys waded back into the water and hooked an arm around Meghan's waist.

  "For Pete's sake, settle down," he growled in her ear. "This isn't the time for that. Hell, you need a keeper. Where the devil did that temper come from? It's going to get us both killed."

  "Let me go!" Meghan knew he was right, but she resisted on principle, twisting and squirming and glaring at Harley and Scratch as Rhys dragged her onto the beach.

  "What's a cretin?" Harley asked.

  "Damned if I know." His partner scratched his head. "But I think we was jist insulted."

  On the beach, Meghan wrenched away from Rhys and glared. "Let go of me. Nobody asked you to interfere. I can take care of myself, so just mind your on business."

  "Uh-uh. Not when you're endangering my life, too. Now just settle down."

  She toss her chin, sniffed and turned her back on him.

  Harley, after several failed tries, hoisted himself up onto his feet and he and Scratch hauled the cooler and a water jug and Rhys and Meghan's belongings from the dinghy and dumped them onto the sand.

  Harley hitched up his waterlogged pants. Scratch clawed at his belly with one hand and waved toward the pile of items with the other. "We packed enough chow in the cooler to last you a week. 'Course, with the woman along, it'll go faster, but if ya run out there's plenty of fruit on this island, an' there's always fish. The jug's full of water, but there's a pool and a waterfall inland jist a ways. You won't starve a'fore we git back, leastways." He turned away and splashed back through the shallows toward the dinghy. "C'mon, Harley. Virgil's awaitin' an' you know how testy he gits."

  "Wait!" Meghan yelped. "What do you mean, before you get back?' You're.. .you're not leaving us here, surety?"

  The two men continued to wade out through the shallows, but Harley glanced back at her over his shoulder with a nasty grin. "Looks thataway, don't it?"

  "But you can't!"

  The two men nudged one another and chuckled. They shoved the dinghy off the sand, turned it around and guided it out into waist-deep water. Scratch hefted himself over the side into the boat, but when Harley tried
the same tactic the small craft overturned, dumping his partner into the drink.

  Scratch came up choking and cursing, and a shouting match followed.

  It took three tries before they were both on board, and another ten minutes of struggling to get back over the reef. By that time the cabin cruiser had somehow drifted farther out and they had to row like demons. They were nearly swamped by waves twice before they caught up with the craft.

  Meghan stood helpless, an icy feeling of unreality gripping her as she watched the cabin cruiser grow smaller and smaller until it was a mere speck on the horizon. Then it was gone.

  Meghan swallowed hard. She could not believe it. They had been abandoned on a deserted island, God alone knew where. Just her and Rhys.